


almost midnight

by klantic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: otp:true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klantic/pseuds/klantic
Summary: This is a tale of certified star-whisperers, copious amounts of chocolate, and kissing, lots of kissing. Or: another Jily NYE fic.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Sixth Year, New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Rainbow Rowell inspired this fic - her short story, “Midnights,” screamed “Make this into a James and Lily fic!” at me and so I listened. I hope you enjoy reading this slice of sweet potato pie as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The year was 1976 - the last day, to be exact. The last five minutes, to be annoyingly exact. It was almost midnight. Sorry. Right. You get the point.

If you were to ask any Gryffindor where Lily Evans was at 12 o’clock in the morning in the fresh year of 1977, they’d likely tell you to one, sod off, and two, search the library. Which I find a bit offensive, even if it is my own fabrication of a conversation - I’m not  _ that  _ studious as to go read a book on New Years Eve. 

No. I, Lily Evans, was not in the library that fateful night, but on the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower, alone except for the chocolate frog I was currently devouring. 

The winding stone staircase wasn’t known for its comfortability. My tailbone already ached from the awkward angle of a misshapen stone and my shoes - slightly too small - had been kicked unceremoniously from my feet after several flights. And so I sat, with bell bottom jeans flaring over white stockings and my robe tucked to create some semblance of a cushion, alone against the wall and staring up at the stars - because if the staircase to the Astronomy Tower was known for anything, it was its privacy.

A bell began to toll.  _ Midnight. _

I finished the chocolate and picked up the box, tearing the edges until it was a pile on the stair above mine. A gust of wind wound its way down the passageway and I shivered, rubbing my forearms and tucking my knees to my chest. It was a clear night, perfect for an Astronomy lesson had we not been on holiday, and the stars seemed to wink down at me.  _ Don’t worry,  _ they said,  _ you are small.  _

_ Thank you, stars. You’re quite wise.  _ Maybe I was going insane, maybe I was a certifiable star-whisperer. I’ll never tell. But they were right, the stars. I am small. And me sitting here, alone on New Years, is small. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of the universe. It’s a comforting thought. 

How I came to be here - chocolate frog clad, existential, and shoeless - is a story several years in the making.


	2. Fourth Year, New Year's Eve

**December 31st, 1974**

1974 was the year my parents died.

And you’re probably thinking, _yikes, Lily. Make it dark, why don’t you._ And I would say, _well this is my bloody story and 1974 was the year my parents died so what else do you expect me to talk about when I bring up that bloody year?_ Anyway, it’s relevant. 

They died in November. After the funeral and too many flowers and casserole dishes, Petunia wrote me saying to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday. Every holiday, in fact. She couldn’t afford to feed me at the mo’ (and was harboring her extreme dislike of me and everything I represent). So, I experienced the holidays at Hogwarts for the first time.

“I’m not moving ‘til you get up,” Mary Macdonald was laying horizontally across my bed, never mind the fact that I was trying to sleep in it. 

“Hard to get up when the full weight of a witch is lying across my blanket,” I replied into my pillow.

“I’ve seen you launch Potter into the air with a flick of your wand. Get up, you loon.”

“I can’t. Not tonight.” I wiggled my legs until she gave in from discomfort, letting herself slide to the floor of our dormitory.

“Says you,” Mary sniffed. “Your best friend, the butterbeer fountain waiting downstairs, and that lovely green sweater of yours, say otherwise.” She got up and started rummaging through my trunk.

“Oi!” I sat up and the darkened room swam for a moment before settling on the dark-haired girl at the foot of my four-poster. “Out!”

“Got it,” she said smugly, brandishing the green turtleneck in the air above her. “Put this on and comb your hair.”

“I’d much rather stay in my pyjamas and wallow in the despair of having a dead mum and dad for the night, thanks.”

“Listen, Lils. I’ve allowed you to sulk for the past few weeks-”

“ _Allowed_ me to-?”

“-and I will continue allowing you to sulk. You deserve to sulk. Hell, if both my parents died, I’d be off watching the movements of Mars with the centaurs in the Forest for the year.” Mary frowned in sympathy. “But New Years is the exception. And we’ll even get you some chocolate. I have a guy.”

_* * *_

“ _Black_ is your guy?” I hissed in Mary’s ear, eyes narrowed at the grinning boy across from us. Sirius looked nice. He wore a sweater that went well with his dark, shoulder-length hair. At just fourteen, he was still a bit scrawny, which accentuated his pallid complexion that came with being a Black. 

It’d taken some more convincing on Mary’s part, but after half an hour, I was dressed and my red hair was satisfyingly fluffy. There were a handful of people - of all years - littering the sofas and plush armchairs. I heard the _pop!_ and _crack!_ of a round of Exploding Snap, the tinkle of glasses near the promised butterbeer fountain, and the croon of the enchanted record player in the corner. 

“Lupin’s mum’s sick, so Black is our best bet,” replied Mary.

“And lucky for you girls, Remus left the lot of it behind.” From his robes, Sirius brought out fistfulls of various chocolates. _Oh sweet mother._ I snatched a bonbon.

“Thanks, Black,” said Mary, petting my hair affectionately as I munched happily. “Been a rough year, if you know what I mean…” I flinched away from her and avoided Black’s likely sympathetic gaze.

“Rough year for all of us, mate…” Black said darkly.

“Oi! You lot!” Sirius let out a cry of joy and clapped the speaker on the back.

James Potter. I wondered, randomly, what his middle name was. Middle names were great fuel for highly specific angry telling-tos - one of three interactions I regularly had with this boy. It was justified - he bullied Severus, a friend I’d had since I knew I was a witch.

I swallowed my chocolate. “Potter.” He ran a hand through his hair, his grin never wavering. 

“Evans,” he nodded. “Macdonald. Enjoying the evening? Eyeing the prospects?” His eyebrows wiggled.

“Prospects?” I looked at Mary, who appeared equally vexed.

“New Year’s Eve…?” Potter suggested. When we both shrugged, nonplussed, he turned to Black. “Help me out?”

“New Year’s Eve: kiss. Y’know the tradition,” explained Sirius. I side-eyed Mary and we both started giggling uncontrollably.

“Who’s going to kiss you, Potter? The giant squid?” I spluttered gleefully. Sirius let out a bark of laughter at that. Potter looked extremely offended.

“I’ll have you all know I’ve already decided my New Year’s kiss,” he crossed his arms and huffed. 

“Right,” added Mary. “I’m sure the Fat Lady’s powdering her nose as we speak!” I clapped my hands, howling.

“Well, it _was_ going to be someone in present company, but not anymore!” 

“Oh no, whatever will we do,” I said - in a convincingly (albeit very sarcastic) worried tone, might I add. Noting (wisely) that nothing good could possibly come from this conversation, Potter and Black were already retreating to a different corner of the Common Room. I turned to Mary, spirits ten times higher than they’d been an hour before.

“Butterbeer?” I stuck out my arm. She grinned, taking it.

“Butterbeer.”

* * *

“So, decided who your New Years kiss is gonna be?” It was later, almost midnight, and I was alone on one of the sofas - Mary was playing exploding snap in the corner with a small group of fifth years. Potter plopped down next to me on the sofa and gestured his butterbeer to the room at large. “Davey Gudgeon looks like he could use a pick-me-up.” The boy in question did look a bit glum, but I knew it was because the girl he liked, Pigtail Gladys, had decided to return home for the holidays. 

“Davey’s just lonely since Gladys is gone.” I glanced over at Potter, who perked an eyebrow in interest.

“They’re together?”

“No, but he’s got it bad for her.”

“Hmm. Maybe not Gudgeon then. But you should pick _someone._ ” 

“Why do I have to pick anyone at all? I’ve never had one before and I’ve got on quite nicely.” I frowned. I hoped he wasn’t thinking I’d kiss him. I could think of nothing more upsetting than rounding out this horrid year with kissing James Potter. I’d rather march down to the lake and kiss a grindylow.

“It’s New Years Eve!” he said earnestly, eyes wide behind his thick frames. “It’s tradition. Plus, it’s good luck. Start the new year off with a bit of positivity and all that.” I looked around the common room and had to admit, he was right. People had begun to shift nearer to each other like they did when professors asked us to find a partner in class. 

“I’m fine, thanks.” 

“Suit yourself,” he stood. “Don’t come sobbing to me when 1975 turns out to be shit.” I felt a flare of _something_ ignite in my chest and felt invigorated for the first time since my parents’ passed. _How dare he! Didn’t he know the year I just had? What an absolute, insensitive, rude -_

“James!” Cordelia Munk, a fifth year with raven black hair and curves that showed through even the thickest of robes, waved from near the fireplace. Potter grinned and winked at me, not slowed by my glare, before joining her.

From somewhere in the upper reaches of Hogwarts, a bell tolled midnight. I watched as Cordelia closed her eyes and kissed Potter on the mouth. I watched as he smiled and kissed her back. I watched as he grabbed her hand and spun her around and as they swayed on the rug at the center of the common room, welcoming the new year together.


	3. Fifth Year, New Year's Eve

**December 31st, 1975**

“Dance with me, Evans,” Potter held out his hand. I ignored him by grabbing the butterbeer out of Mary’s hand and taking a gigantic gulp. The warmth spread quickly, causing a hiccup to escape my throat.

“Give it a rest, Prongs, she’s been saying no all year.” Sirius wasn’t wrong: 1975 was the Year of a Hundred ”No”s. James Potter had woken up one morning in late February and said, “Hey, I know a new way to torture Lily Evans!” and had proceeded to publicly humiliate me with singing love letters, dramatic displays of begging, and, once, a (so he told me) well-intentioned niffler in my bookbag. 

“Terrible dancer,” I hiccuped, pointing to myself. “Mary,” _hiccup, "_ can vouch.” James pulled his hand back ruefully and rubbed it instead through his black hair, lawless as ever. He wore a red and gold Gryffindor sweater and khaki trousers. His lanky frame had filled out a bit in the past year.

“Swear on my grandad’s left earlobe,” Mary nodded solemnly to general strange looks. “What? He’s fond of it.”

“All you’ve got to do is move a bit.” James offered, as if I didn’t _know_ that.

“Yes, but when I move a bit, other items tend to move too. Like tables or picture frames. And an unfortunately fragile lamp, once.” He stared in disbelief.

“Fine. Macdonald?” Mary shrugged and took his hand.

“ _Traitor,”_ I mouthed and in response, and probably to dig the knife in deeper, she executed a perfect twirl. I scowled. And so it was just me, Sirius, and Mary’s hiccup-inducing butterbeer.

“Would love to stay and chat, Evans, but there’s a rather glum-looking Cordelia Munk across the way and I happen to have a surplus of beverages.” I looked down at his one glass, confused.

“Er, I’m not sure how much butterbeer you’ve had tonight, Black, but you’ve only got-” And then he stole Mary’s - then my - now Cordelia’s (apparently) - butterbeer. Just right from my hand. And walked away. I clenched open air, as if it would suddenly reappear. “Sod it all.”

* * *

A little while later and closer to midnight, I found myself sitting criss-cross on a sofa and sipping my own butterbeer, the warmth of it matching the atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room. Bless the traditional butterbeer fountain. James and Mary were still spinning and grooving gracefully. Pigtail Gladys had abandoned her pigtails in the last year and coincidentally started dating Davey Gudgeon. They were snug in a single armchair near the fire. 

“You really ought to try dancing again. It’s life-altering,” panted James, plopping down on the sofa next to me. 

“How d’you know the other person is, y’know, okay with you suddenly kissing them?” I said, watching Gladys laugh at something Davey had whispered to her. “For a New Year’s Eve kiss, I mean.” I felt James shift next to me, silent, for once. I peeked over at him. He’d followed my gaze to the new couple. 

“It’s all in the face,” he said. 

“What’s all in the face?”

“Y’know. That look that people give each other.”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

“C’mon Lily, _the face_. Haven’t you been kissed before?” I blushed.

“Of course I have.”

“Kissing Benjy Fenwick accidentally last year doesn’t count,” he smirked as my face grew even hotter. “I meant, have you ever been _kissed_ kissed.” 

As I opened my mouth to protest that, _“Um, yes, kissing Benjy Fenwick last year_ does _count_ ,” Potter let his smile fall and he locked eyes with mine. Suddenly, my protest was lost. I found myself drawn to his furrowed eyebrows and the intensity of his gaze, filled entirely of something pure and vulnerable. His lips parted a half a millimeter. Wait. Lips? Since when did I notice Potter’s lips?

At this point, my many butterbeers of the evening chose to take their final revenge. I hiccuped loudly, causing us both to spring from the sofa at the same time. I looked anywhere but at him. Whatever _that_ just was, it was broken. 

“Right, I’m gonna just-” I pointed to the girl’s dormitory, eyes on the floor, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Yeah I should go, er-” He chuckled awkwardly before turning away from me.

“It’s almost midnight!” Someone called and a cheer went up. I shrunk toward the girls’ staircase, observing the desperate singletons shifting nervously about the room. I saw Mary sidestepping closer to a red-haired sixth year she’d commented on at breakfast earlier that semester. Sirius was already entwined with Cordelia on one of the armchairs. 

The common room began to chant in unison. _Ten, nine, eight -_ across the room, Potter slid down and sat beside Heather Holloway, who turned to him, beaming a cute, gap-toothed smile. _S_ _even, six, five -_ I watched as he tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and whispered something that made her laugh. _Four, three, two -_ he pulled her closer and her hands found his messy hair. _One -_ they were kissing and laughing and kissing again. The bell tolled throughout the castle. Midnight.

And I? I was halfway up the stairs to my bed, already weary of the year to come.


	4. Sixth Year, Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to reach out in the comments or on tumblr!

**December 31st, 1976**

“You look brilliant, darling,” said my mirror in an offensively bored tone. “He’ll love it.”

“It’s not about a bloody  _ him.  _ There is no  _ he!”  _ The past hour had been a montage of throwing on outfits for the evening with a smile, only to shake my head in disgust once my floor-length mirror spouted obligatory compliments. Compliments that slowly dulled in their enthusiasm.

“I’ve been doing this for years, love. There’s always a him.” I groaned.

“What do you know? You’re a mirror!” I threw a school robe over it and relished in the silence and a very messy dormitory.

Three elements of my life had shifted in the past year. For one, I no longer considered Severus Snape my friend - it was like losing a pair of training wheels - I suppose they help in the beginning when you start riding a bicycle, but become quite annoying and hold you back a bit once you can full-on ride. Especially when said training wheels think you’re a “filthy mudblood.” 

For another, Mary began dating that cute ginger-haired boy from the previously mentioned New Year’s Eve who happened to be head over heels for her. Reggie was the reason for Mary’s lack of assistance during my first of several December 31st, 1976 breakdowns.

“I’ll just wear a robe over all of it,” I muttered to myself, raking my fingers through my tangled hair. “I’m a witch, aren’t I?”

“Sounds nice, dear,” sighed the mirror. I slammed the door on my way out.

* * *

The common room was filled with people - more upperclassmen had elected to stay at Hogwarts due to growing tensions outside the castle walls and also for the fact that this was our sixth year - ‘you won’t miss it til it’s over’ and all that. I searched the room, spotting Mary and Reg near the record player, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black singing a Celestina Warbeck song, and Heather Halloway chatting animatedly with Peter Pettigrew near the sweets.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

“Lily!” I could barely contain a smile as I spun around and was immediately wrapped into a hug. 

The third, and perhaps most grandiose, shift in the past year was James Potter. Or rather, how I acted around James Potter. Clearly.

“You look great!” he said, letting go.  _ He  _ looked great - with his lawless dark hair and untucked button-up shirt with one button too many done up. And his eyebrows had my heart doing a tap dance. 

“You saw me this morning!” 

“Yes, but you’ve done that thing with your hair-”

“Let it down?”

“Mm.”

“James!” Another small group - the Gryffindor quidditch team - was beckoning him over. He looked apologetically at me.

“I’d better-” 

“Go,” I shooed, “You know me: I’ll be here all night, eating chocolate and people watching.” He chuckled, shook his head, and left. 

* * *

For the third year in a row, I found myself upon the coveted sofa. 

“Alright, tell me a secret and I’ll tell you one,” said James, plopping down on the cushion next to mine. I offered him a chocoball from my stash.

“I hate dancing.” He scoffed.

“That’s not a secret and you know it! Dig deep.” He really shouldn’t have said that, because if you’ve learned anything about me in the last three years, you’d know that (1) New Year’s Eve will always put me in a melancholic state, and (2) that melancholic state tends to invert the messy person I am inside for the whole Common Room to see.

“My sister hasn’t spoken to me since my parents died,” I said. Because of course I said that to him. It sobered the mood quite immediately.

“But they died-”

“Two years ago, yeah.” James let out a whistle.

“That sucks.”

“It hurt a lot, when I realized she cut me off. So much I could barely talk. Even to Mary. Or Snape, at the time.” There was a pause in the conversation, then:

“My mum and dad passed in June, right after school let out.” My eyes snapped to his face. Now it was his turn to avoid eye contact.

“I didn’t know.” He shrugged.

“Only a few knew. Sirius, Remus, Peter.” I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say that. You know not to say that. Shit like that happens. Life goes on.” His jaw tightened slightly. Hesitantly, I reached out and touched his hand. When he didn’t pull away, I squeezed it gently.

“I understand,” I said. And I did. I think we were the only two people in that crowded room that could say that to each other. We stayed there, my hand on his, head leaning into the crook of his neck, staring at the edge of the bubble we’d created in the middle of the Gryffindor common room and wishing it could stay afloat just a short while longer. Eventually though, he was pulled one way and Mary tugged me another. It was a party wasn’t it? And shouldn’t we enjoy it?

* * *

Sirius and Peter had James by the arms and were marching him toward the fireplace. Lupin trailed behind with his arms crossed. I snorted at the look on his face; a mix between reluctance and uncontained laughter. I followed his gaze to their destination: my fellow dormmate and friend, Marlene McKinnon. She was chatting idly with Dorcas Meadowes, oblivious to the trainwreck heading her way. I caught clips of the boys’ quips.

“Pucker up!”

“C’mon, James, it’ll help honestly-”

James was laughing too much to resist anything.

And all at once, an overwhelming feeling of,  _ I can’t be here _ , washed over me. I turned and pushed open the Fat Lady’s portrait without a backwards glance. I would not - could not - sit back and watch this year. 

And so that’s how I found myself alone, eating a chocolate frog and sitting on the cold stone steps of the Astronomy tower as the castle bell marked 1977. How stupid I was. I wasn’t cute Heather Halloway, with her gap teeth, or a socialite like Cordelia. I felt an uncomfortable tug in my gut as I realized that from his perspective, I was nothing but a haughty prefect whose every interaction with him before this year was scolding him for doing something wrong. I was a fraud.

The stars swam as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I sniffed and rubbed them angrily - I wasn’t about to start the year off by crying over a boy. If kissing someone was good luck for the new year, crying over someone was certainly the opposite. 

“Lily?” I leapt up with wand raised, trying to locate the source of the voice when James’ head appeared out of thin air a few steps down. I stared, keeping my face passive, not daring to breathe. I lowered my wand.

He removed the rest of the invisibility cloak, eyes never leaving mine. His expression was the same he’d worn on this exact night one year ago - intense and open. He walked slowly up the stairs until we were even, balanced on the same stone step.

We were so close, mere centimeters of air separating us. Then, just like that: he kissed me.

He held my elbows gently as I tucked myself against his chest, consumed completely by the elation of my first  _ kiss  _ kiss - because he’d been right and the Benjy Fenwick incident was certainly not  _ this.  _ A real, bonafide New Year’s kiss.

I faltered and pulled back. Was that all this was - a good luck kiss? 

As if hearing my thoughts, James asked, “Lily...d’you,” he cleared his throat, “do you like me?” His black eyebrows were furrowed. And as suddenly as the doubt had appeared in my mind, it vanished. Those damn eyebrows.

And then I wasn’t looking at his eyebrows anymore. Without thinking, without caring that my nose was stuffed up from the cold - I kissed him back. His hands grabbed my waist and I leaned forward, my arms winding around his neck as our chins nodded in rhythm. Warmth spread from my wobbly knees to my chest to my flushed cheeks. He was warm and solid and  _ here _ , with me. I curled his hair with my fingers and our chests hummed. 

And after several seconds, or minutes, or hours - we broke apart, gasping hard against the rush of cold, wintery air. 

“Happy New Year, James.”

We both smiled at the euphoria of it all, our eyes crinkling and our hearts full. All was sweet. _ You may be small,  _ said the stars above us,  _ but so is he. No use in being small separately, is there?  _ And I thanked the stars for their wisdom. And James did too. It was a lengthy thank you session, to be honest. 


End file.
